


Happy That Way

by Faetality



Series: Happy That Way [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Human, Lawyer Peter Hale, Single Parent Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 03:46:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17093432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faetality/pseuds/Faetality
Summary: (Excerpt)They never talked about Zena’s mother, or Peter’s family. They spoke little about where they came from and even less about what drove them out. But they did talk about everything else under the sun. Hobbies, passions, books, Zena, and work. For all of that they didn’t go into each other’s spaces, to allow each other into their homes seemed a step too far for either to take. Not when Peter hadn’t allowed anyone into his personal space in years and Stiles. Well. He had a little girl to think of before letting someone into their lives permanently.Neither seemed to realize what they had was already changing them all.





	Happy That Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CinnamonLily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonLily/gifts).



> My secret Santa recipient was Ohthepretty on tumblr - cinnamonlily here on Ao3!  
> I really hope you enjoy this because I had such an amazing time writing it!

 

Peter was used to people coming and going in his life, even his sister had been willing to let him go without a fight as long as he was still at her beck and call. He was used to clients showing up once and disappearing. To interns popping up and being gone in the next breath. He was used to his neighbors packing their lives and going on with them without a word. Which meant he was used to seeing new faces in the halls of his apartment complex. Peter was used to being alone and he was happy that way. 

 

What he wasn’t used to was little girls running down the hall with newspaper wrapped bundles in their hands without regard for the polished floors. It wasn’t his business, though he considered most things his business to some extent, but when she slipped, converse not giving her enough traction, the little bundle flying from her hands to crash against the floor, well. He was cold but he wasn’t heartless. 

 

Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes as he retrieved the paper and knelt beside her. “You should be more careful.” the girl had big blue eyes and her face was brushed with freckles, short hair poofed wildly atop her head and her knees were skinned up but not from her fall there. 

She sniffled, “Did I break it?” He did hope she wouldn’t start crying. 

He’d been going out for dinner alone so there was no harm in taking a few minutes to loiter. Whoever this new resident was, leaving their child unattended to run around a place like Grove Heights was a major offense to some of the residents. Not because they thought it a danger to the child but the sanctity of their halls were  _ important _ . He carefully unwraps the object, already wincing at the sound of pieces grinding together. Looking at the piece he almost wants to walk away, not prepared to listen to the wailing sure to follow. The pieces would have made a ceramic kitten, clearly handmade and not the work of a child, though the glazing may have been. Instead there were pieces of a cat and ball of yarn and the tears began to fall as the girl looked at it. 

“It’s.. it’s…”

“It’s perfectly fixable.” 

 

There’s hurried footsteps coming from behind him, “Zena, are you okay? Who are you?”  _ Ah, here comes the father.  _

Peter stands, words already rolling off his tongue. “I’m not sure where you’re from but if you could keep a better eye on your daughter it would be--- appreciated.” The man wasn’t what he expected.  _ Zena  _ was clearly the man’s daughter, they had the same upturned nose and the man was speckled with moles, darker and more spread out that his daughter’s, their hair poofed in the same way though his was longer. He was stunningly attractive. “I’m Peter, by the way.” 

“Stiles, and I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell me how to take care of my kid- hey sweetie what’s wrong?” his knees hit the floor with a thud, “Hey, hey, can you tell me what happened?” 

“I- I broke it! I broke Mimi;s kitty and I-” the girl buried her face into her father’s chest, skinny arms around his neck while he rubbed her back. “Shhh, it’s okay. Where is it, hm?”  

 

“I have it here.” Peter holds out the ceramic pieces, “It’s fixable, a bit of glue and I’m sure it’ll be fine.” The man- Stiles- hefted the little girl into his arms and looked between the pieces and Peter, “Would you mind carrying those into my apartment?” He was far more concerned about the girl in his arms than whatever the arrogant man was thinking of him at the moment. His daughter was his priority and he hated seeing her cry. Belatedly he tacks on a “please?” Then doesn’t wait to hear the answer.

 

Peter follows him down the hall, the man’s apartment was just two down and across from his own and he made note of the boxes stacked around the inside as he followed him into the kitchen. There were covered canvases leaned against furniture, none of it expensive, none of it expected.    
“I know I have superglue somewhere in here.” Stiles started rummaging in the clear storage bins around the kitchen, Zena sitting on the kitchen island while Peter was left standing to the side. 

The man shoved his sleeves up as he digs through boxes, showing off artwork that wound over his forearms and disappeared beneath the red fabric. He didn’t stop talking the entire time. “So have you lived here long? I mean, clearly longer than we have but you don’t seem new. Zena, honey do you remember- no nevermind- aha! Wait-“ all the while Zena was drying her eyes and then she was eying Peter critically. 

“How old are you?” He asks. 

“Mm five.”

 

When it was all said and done it was twenty minutes passed when the ordeal started and Peter knew a lot about glue he hadn’t previously known. There was also some sniping about the desk lady between the adults.  “Now that we’ve made you late for where you were going…”

“I was just going to grab dinner, it’s not a big deal.” 

“Daddy, I’m hungry!” 

“I- um. Sorry -“

“It’s quite alright, would you like to join me?” 

*

The diner was a small thing straight from the 50s with checkered floors and red vinyl booths. There was a jukebox in the corner and Peter half expected the waitress to be on skates. It wasn’t a place he would have found by himself but Stiles seemed to know it well and fit into the scenery with ease. Zena had crayons and a print out of a vinyl record to color before they were even seated it seemed. 

“So why here?” Stiles knew what he meant.  _ Why this city. Why my apartment complex because clearly it’s more high brow than yourself.  _ It was pretentious but it wasn’t malicious. A statement rather than a judgement. He still couldn’t decide if he  _ liked  _ the man or not. 

“Work, I’ve got a job with a design company and they insisted I move closer. What do you do?” 

“Lawyer. It’s a hell of a job but I like it.” He had gone independent with his firm four years prior and it was one of the best decisions he’d made. His name alone could win him cases. 

  
  


That night set them up for quite a few more. The diner became tradition, Peter had always kept a habit of working late but on Tuesdays he began leaving at five on the dot. He had a reputation as a hard ass with a bad temper but on those days he frowned a bit less and if the assistants were lucky he would tell them to go home too. Stiles made sure everyone knew he was never coming in on a tuesday night for any sort of meeting and left it at that.    
  


They never talked about Zena’s mother, or Peter’s family. They spoke little about where they came from and even less about what drove them out. But they did talk about everything else under the sun. Hobbies, passions, books, Zena, and work. For all of that they didn’t go into each other’s spaces, to allow each other into their homes seemed a step too far for either to take. Not when Peter hadn’t allowed anyone into his personal space in years and Stiles. Well. He had a little girl to think of before letting someone into their lives permanently. 

Neither seemed to realize what they had was already changing them all. 

 

Zena loved Peter. Stiles knew the man wasn’t all that he said he was. He was cruel behind the Armani, his tongue was a weapon that drew tears with the blood, and Stiles had no doubt he was capable of terrible things. But he laughed at his jokes and played tic tac toe on napkins in a little diner with his daughter and never once acted like they were an inconvenience to him. If his words were bitter and eyes angry after a day of work he didn’t take it out on them. His daughter loved the man and that was worth a lot. 

They were friends if nothing else. 

 

*

It was mid October when Stiles got the call at eight after one, cell phone lighting up the dark room like daylight.  _ Noah J. Stilinski …. shot …. life flighted to… surgery.  _ It feels like he’s drowning. Panic wells in his throat, chest tightening while his stomach rolls and threatens to heave it’s way out his throat.  _ Calm down. Calm down. You need to be able to drive. Zena. Marzena. Fuck she can’t stay home alone-  _

He’s dressed before he’s even aware of his feet touching the floor. Throwing anything he can reach into a backpack before going to get his daughter. Marzena whines a little when he lifts her out of the bed, one little arm winding around his neck while the other clings to her stuffed fox. He doesn’t remember if he locks the door behind them, he’s pretty sure he’s about to start crying but it doesn’t matter. His dad was the one point in his life he’d never thought would change. He tried his best to take care of him and to protect him and he loved him second only to the little girl in his arms but  _ he couldn’t lose him.  _

 

He pounds on Peter’s door, rapid and uncaring for the neighbors he’s sure hates him anyway. His hand was still raised when it opened. “Wha- Stiles?” Anger turns to confusion turns to worry. The man is a mess, sleep shirt under a ratty plaid, hair a mess, eyes red rimmed and lips trembling like he was about to cry with his sleeping daughter in his arms. He’s a picture of frantic panic. “I’m sorry, I’m  sorry I know it’s so late but it’s my dad. i can't leave Z and I don’t want to take her to the hospital and I can’t” He can’t breathe again. Peter’s going to think he’s insane-

“D’ddy?” A sleepy whine against his neck.

“ _ Fuck” _

Peter moved forward and gently extracts the girl from her father's arms, blanket and all. She sets against him easily and the girl weighs next to nothing. “Come inside, Stiles.” 

“I have to go-“

“You can’t drive like this. Come inside.” One big hand encloses around his wrist and tugs him into the apartment. He carries the little girl through to his own room and sets her in the middle of his king sized bed, pulling the top cover over her before walking back to where Stiles was standing in the living room. When the younger man saw him alone he broke down. His control had been held together by Zena and now that she was settled there was nothing stopping the panic attack. Peter crossed the room in three long, hurried strides. They were friends. It was the least he could do. 

 

“Sit down, come on. There you are.” He settles him down on the couch, hands resting on Stiles’ knees, thumbs rubbing circles. He hadn’t walked someone through a panic attack before and he could only hope he wouldn’t screw up and make it worse. His nephew had come close to one; once.That didn’t help him here. “Breathe, in and out for me.” His own knees are aching, the carpet was plush but it wasn’t optimal. He shoves the discomfort aside. “Easy, you’re okay.” Stiles’ eyes were puffy, cheeks red and he was shaking like a leaf but he was okay. He was breathing. His heart was beating- Peter’s hands were warm through his pants, he was looking up at him and there was no judgement in his eyes. He was a mess. His own hands fell over Peter’s and he tugged away. He needed to leave. 

“I- I have to go.” 

“You can’t go anywhere like this, tell me what happened.” 

“No, I need to go!”

“You will crash your car and die and I will not be responsible for letting you go right now. I will not be the one telling your daughter I let you go kill yourself.” The older man moved up to the couch, his body a line of comforting heat where Stiles felt like he’d been frozen. He leans in like its a habit and feels an arm settle around his shoulders. Like it was a thing that they  _ did _ . Peter keeps his voice low, caught between a rumble and a whisper and it coaxed out a singular hiccuped breath, then a second from the artist. 

 

“Now tell me what happened.”

“My dad. My dad got shot.”  He curled tighter, the arm holding him tightening. It brought him closer to Peter and he didn’t have the thought to question it when he pushed his face into the crook of the other man’s neck. Peter starts rubbing his back, letting him say what he needed when he could. “He’s a sheriff. They’re flying him out. I can’t lose him. I can’t.” Peter is warm, they’re of a height but right then it felt like Peter could hold him and hide him from the rest of the world because he felt  _ small. Fragile like a porcelain doll and just as broken up inside.  _ He winds his own arms around the lawyer’s waist and squeezes. 

“I can drive you?” 

“No. No I don’t want to make Zena worry. I hate hospitals and I don’t want her to see me like this. Just. Watch her? Just for a day until I get back and I- I don’t know but I’ll make it up to you but I don’t want her to have to spend the night at a hospital.”  _ Hard chairs that tried to be comfortable and fell so short and the eerie not quite quiet that hung in the air. Knowing everyone there was waiting for something terrible and the sterility that crushed hope just as well as any germs.  _ No. He wasn’t going to make her spend the night at the hospital. 

 

“Okay. I can do that. Where are they flying him to?”

“South Memorial. I should be going” He didn’t pull away. 

“Let me make you some coffee before you go?”

“It makes me sleepy.”

“Then some tea. If you won’t let me drive you, they won’t let you see him until he’s out of surgery and it’s only an hour and a half drive.” Peter spoke like it was a fact. That his dad would make it through surgery and be back to griping that Stiles was ruining his happiness one green bean at a time the next week. It didn’t shut the voice in the back of his head up, the one shouting statistics and every fear that had haunted him since he was five years old but it helped. It let him pull away and nod. 

“Okay. Yes. Yeah. Thank you.” 

 

*

Peter called out of work for the first time in six years. He had sat up until Stiles texted him that he had made the drive and promised to keep him updated as he got new information. He dozed until the sun was coming through the window and only then did he get up and plug his phone into the charger in the kitchen and start breakfast. It was half past eight when Zena came slowly into the living space, stuffed toy clutched to her chest and blanket pulled around her like a shield. He’d just hung up with Stiles who had told him his dad made it through surgery. He had sounded so tired it tugged at Peter’s heart. 

 

“Good morning.” 

“Where’s daddy?”

“He had to go to the hospital to check on your grandpa. He’s alright now and he said to call him after breakfast.” She climbed up on one of the barstools and pouted.  “But I think we can do one better and surprise him for lunch.” her face lit up and suddenly she was reaching for the plate of french toast. 

“So gran’pa is alright?” 

“Yes, he’s going to be fine, but your dad was very worried and he’s going to need a really big hug next time you see him.” 

 

“Okay. I can do that!”  

*

He hated hospitals. He hated the whiteness. The smell. The sadness and anxiety that was soaked into the scuffed not quite tan paint. It made him want to scream. 

 

His dad was sleeping, the painkillers in his system heavy. He’d been half awake enough to see his son before squeezing his hand weakly and falling back asleep. Then the nurse had ushered Stiles back into the halls telling him to come back in a few hours. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to stay. He was holding his head in his hands in a chair across from the cafeteria when a familiar voice floated down from the reception area. It was smooth and easy and asking about a Stilinski- he was half sure he was hallucinating it. He had no sleep, he was exhausted, and he wanted to collapse; but his little girl was running down the hall and throwing her arms around his neck and the tears welled up instead. Coming behind her was Peter, white henley, blue jeans, smiling that kind of smile you only saw when the person looking at you was just as tired as you were. The kind of smile he knew Peter didn’t give anyone else he’d ever met. 

 

He set Zena back on the floor and took two steps before pulling the older man into a hug. Peter hesitated, shocked before he hugged him back, letting Stiles take a moment to compose himself before he let go. “We thought you might could use a distraction.” 

Little fingers twined with his own. 

“How about we get lunch? Preferably somewhere other than this building.”

“I-”

“Need real food because the breakfast I’m sure you ate wasn’t enough in the slightest and you’re famished yes. I think I saw a nice italian place half a block over, is that good?” 

It wasn’t as though it was a choice. Peter had made a living at being persuasive and Stiles didn’t really want to say no. 

*

Noah was awake when they got back to the hospital, Stiles went in first, leaving Peter and Marzena in the gift shop where the girl found a tiny stuffed german shepherd and insisted that he grandfather needed it to get better faster. ‘It was a  _ rule _ Peter!’ Peter bought it with a smile, watching the woman tie a blue ribbon around its neck under the girl’s critical eye. She bounced down the hall when Stiles came back for them. 

“You can come in if you want.” 

 

The first time Peter met Stiles’ father the man was in a hospital bed with a stuffed animal sitting on his stomach. His grip when he insisted on a handshake was still strong. “Dad, this is Peter.” 

“Good to meet you.”   
“And you. I wish the circumstances were different.”

A low huff of laughter that was chased away by a wince. “Yeah, me too.You can call me John.” 

Stiles took Marzena to get a snack about an hour later and John, who he had thought was about to drop off to sleep shifted on the bed. “You’d better treat them right.”

“I’m sorry?”   
“Don’t play dumb. I might be high on the methadone but I’m not stupid. If you’re going to be a part of this, treat them right. He’s smart but he’s half blind when it comes to love. Do them right and we won’t have any problems.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

Two hours later they were going out to eat again at Peter’s insistence that he was not eating hospital food. “Did you know they have your dad on methadone for the pain?” 

“Yeah, I tried to get it switched but they said it was the best option. I don’t like it...” Peter gave a hum and, after a moment, settled his arm around Stiles’ shoulders. It was cold enough outside that to passerby it looked like he was just keeping the younger man warm. Good friends. That’s what they were after all. Stiles faltered in his step just once before he relaxed. “Zena come back here, hold my hand.” the girl walked back the three steps she’d been ahead and dutifully took her father’s hand, swinging it back and forth. 

-

“You will switch him to a different painkiller.” It had taken all of ten minutes in the room with Stilinski’s doctor before Peter had his way. Stiles had mentioned once, in passing during a night when they both had a beer rather than a soda at dinner that he never drank more than one or two because “bad decisions run in the family”. It didn’t take a genius to wager addiction ran in the line. Stiles’ was tired, he was worried, and so he had pushed the nurses but he didn’t have energy to push hard enough. Not in the right spots. Peter didn’t care if he was the bad guy. He would get what he wanted.

  
  
  


“They’ll switch his prescription to something else in the morning.” Big brown eyes stared up at him and he gave a half smile, “Now how about you get a hotel room and some sleep? Doctor’s orders.”

“Didn’t know you went to med school too.”   
“Yeah, same one where you majored in sarcasm. Up you get.” 

 

-

“You’re not paying for my hotel room.” 

“I already did.” 

“Goddamnit! You can’t just- fuck it. Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking Peter. I appreciate you taking care of Marzena, I appreciate you coming out here but I’m an adult! I can take care of myself and my daughter and I don’t need you to be my- my! Fuck I don’t even know!” 

“Stiles.” 

“Why are you being like this? Just so fucking-”

“What?”   
“Patronizing!”   
  


“I just wanted to help. I didn’t mean it to be insulting.”  They were standing in the hallway, Marzena asleep inside the room and Stiles was livid. It was an ugly kind of anger that curled in his chest atop his insecurities. It made him want to rage and hurt and Peter was the only one there. He was there and looking at him like he was genuinely sorry and it only made him want to scream louder. A hand closes around his wrist, pulling him forward until he was held against the other man’s chest, forehead dropping to his shoulder. “You’re under a lot of stress, you’re hurting, you’re tired. I just want to help you, Stiles. So please tell me what you need.” shaking Stiles pulled back.

“I need… I don’t know. But I need to deal with this without this” he motioned between the two of them. “I appreciate everything. I do, but I need to think. So please, just, go home. You have work tomorrow and when I deal with this- we’ll figure this” another motion “out.” 

“I’ll text you when I make it back.”  

“Okay.” 

*

Stiles knocked on his door eight days later. He’d made it home in six but everything had been such a mess and it took two more to find the words he needed to say. He nearly forgot them when Peter opened the door in a skin tight shirt with sweatpants slung low on his hips. “Hi.” 

“Hello… how’s your dad?”

“Good. He’s doing good, um, I just thought we should talk, you know?”    
“Would you like to come inside Stiles?” 

“Please.” 

 

Stepping in without the panic and with full light rather than the halflight of just the entryway fixture was different. Peter’s apartment wasn’t what he would have expected. Sties would have said chrome and marble and wrought iron bookshelves. Sharp like the man himself. Instead it’s all leather and wood, soft throws on the back of the couch and hand carved tables. Nevertheless it cost a fortune. Peter was a creature of comfort, nothing had ever changed that. He believed in indulgence and he loved what he loved. Stiles stood in the center of the room, the coffee table had been moved to the side to clear a large space of the floor and he realized Peter must have been working out. 

“So, I thought about it and I just wanted to say that I like you. A lot. Marzena loves you. You’ve been super nice and honestly if you wanted… I mean. I thought we could go on a date? If you wanted. You’ve been amazing and maybe I’m reading this all wrong but yeah.” 

Peter was standing across the room, eyes on the man like he wasn’t sure what he was doing in his home.  _ I fucked up. Shit.  _ Then Peter was smiling. 

“I would love to go on a date with you.” 

They met halfway, Stiles suddenly intensely aware that Peter’s body was a masterpiece, inches away. He wanted to touch, Peter moved first though. Stiles was lithe under his hands, one hand cupped his jaw before pressing a chaste kiss against his lips. Stiles pushed against his chest and he drew away, “Take me to dinner first.” 

 

*

It was a week before they could go. Peter had cases and clients lined up and Stiles had two deadlines to meet. He took Marzena to stay with her godmother, Lydia, and dressed in black slacks and a button down shirt before walking down the hall to get Peter. He was nervous, bouncing his leg as he waited for the door to open. They were doing this. He was taking Peter fucking Hale out on a date. Peter who had bought him flowers on Valentine’s day as a joke and who asked about his favorite mediums and who laughed like a hyena when he was startled by something funny. 

 

The door swung open and his lips parted, he knew Peter cleaned up nice. He was a lawyer. He had seen him in suits. Hell Peter was  _ always _ nice. He could make a trash bag look sexy- but in a red button up, dark jeans, and a leather jacket that probably cost a down payment on a house… he almost didn’t want to go out. Peter breaks him from his thoughts. “You look amazing.”

“That’s my line.” 

 

He had made reservations at a french restaurant where the tables were lit with candles and live music floated in from the patio. Peter was surprised, just a little, but took it all with grace. It was as easy as any night they spent in the diner, teasing each other and sharing stories, talking about books and some of the things they couldn’t with Zena around. They dipped into family but only the surface. Peter had three siblings. Stiles had a best friend like a brother. When the check came it was Stiles who paid without protest from Peter and it was Stiles who first stopped in the hall to press a kiss to the other’s lips. “Come inside.” 

“If you insist.” 

 

Peter started working on the buttons of Stiles’ shirt the moment the door shut behind them, demanding kisses between every breath and taking delight in the laughter he drew from the younger man. Stiles squirmed when his hands passed lightly under his ribs and Peter thought he might just love him when he laughed against his lips. The shirt hung open and he moved his attention to the expanse of neck he was presented, leaving fading marks down the column. Stiles’ hands ran over Peter’s chest, undoing buttons whenever he came to one but mostly content to let Peter do as he pleased. “Bedroom, come on Peter- oh- okay.” Stiles wound legs around his waist and groaned, rocking hips forward as he was carried. 

Stiles’ room wasn’t huge, mostly dominated by a desk and papers along the walls of the room, tonight it was organized because he’d  _ hoped  _ this as where they would end up. He dropped to his feet, turned them and pushed Peter down on the bed, straddling his waist and leaving his own mark near the man’s collar bones. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” His hands slipped over his sides and Peter tensed briefly beneath him, but not in the way Stiles expected. He drew back a bit, concerned. 

“It’s nothing.” Peter kisses him, biting his lip and unbuttoning his pants before sliding them down and holding his hips steady while he stepped out of them. Stiles did the same for him then started pushing at his shirt until it fell the the floor. He ran a hand over skin that wasn’t smooth, lips hardly an inch away from Peter’s own. 

 

“We aren’t talking about it.” the scars were spread over his side in patches, twisted things that looked painful and raw. He was defensive over them in a way he was over very few things. He wasn’t self conscious. He  _ wasn’t,  _ but some things didn’t need acknowledging. Stiles, for once, wasn’t going to push for an answer. Instead he continued kissing down Peter’s chest, eyes flickering up to meet his blue ones. 

“Okay. But you are going to fuck me into this mattress right?” a nod  “Good. I’m still allowed to touch?” Another nod. “Excellent.” 

 

They fall into bed together, naked and taking but a moment to run hands over the newly bared skin, appreciating, memorizing. Peter moved over him and traced the lines of ink in his skin like they held the secrets of the universe, mapping them with his lips. “Beautiful…” Stiles’ response was lost in a moan as Peter’s mouth closed around him and his own hand slid into the other’s hair, tugging lightly.    
“Fuck, Peter-”     
“Where’s your lube, sweetheart?” his voice was rough, a gravel baritone that sent a shiver up Stiles’ spine. “Drawer to the right- condoms too.” 

 

The way Peter fingered him was teasing, “You know, I thought you’d be louder for me.” 

“Make me-” he was empty in the next second.

“Ask me nicely.” Peter pressed against his entrance and Stiles rolled his hips back. 

“Come on you ass, fuck me already.” 

“Nicely.” teeth nipped at his jaw. 

“Please, oh mighty god of sex will you fuck me like I’ve wanted for months now- fuck!” Peter’s laugh become a moan and he braced himself over his lover. 

“Fuck, Stiles.” 

 

They didn’t draw it out long, they had plenty of time to do that later. This was about touch and the needy sort of feeling buried deep in their chests as lips formed wordless pleas. Stiles’ hands wound into Peter’s hair and nails left thin lines where scrambled for purchase on his back. He cried his name as he came, Peter falling over the edge close behind and then they were collapsing next to each other with their chests heaving and legs twined. 

“We’re doing that again.”

“I should hope so.” 

“We should shower.”    
“In the morning.” Peter wound arms around his lover’s waist and bodily dragged him against his chest. “You have nowhere to be right now.” he pressed lazy kisses that were hardly brushes of lips against his skin along Stiles’ throat.    
“Mmkay…” 

 

Stiles woke first. Peter was sleeping deeply, the arm that wasn’t being used as a pillow was wrapped around Stiles’ rib cage. In his sleep he looked younger, less sharp with his hair mussed and lips parted. Stiles couldn’t resist the temptation to draw fingers over his jawline. He was too perfect to be real. To good to him to be true. 

“Good morning.” He whispered when the man started to wake, blue eyes opening slowly before they shut and a low whining noise freed itself from his throat and he buried himself closer to Stiles. 

“S’too early.” 

“It’s almost nine.” He played with his hair, smiling at the man’s antics. Stiles had never been a morning person but there were the odd occasions. He’d expected Peter to be an early riser, annoyingly chipper and making coffee at 6 am. But Peter had never loved mornings. He was slow to wake and had to drag himself through to his second cup of coffee before he was ready for full sentences. Kisses are laid to his cheek and forehead until he lifts his face for a proper good morning. It’s short and sweet and nothing more than a press of lips. He chases forward in his half asleep state. 

“Nuh uh. Morning breath.” Peter switched trajectory and kissed his cheek. “I’ll make coffee if you want to take a shower?” 

“You should join me.”   
“Then you won’t get coffee.” 

“Shame.” 

Stiles climbed out of the bed and found sweatpants to pull on while Peter lounged in bed and watched. He would get up in a moment, he assured himself. It was a crime not to enjoy the view. 

  
  


He put on his jeans and shirt from the previous evening, leaving the shirt unbuttoned- he planned on going back to his apartment after breakfast before returning to spend the day. Stiles’ apartment was similar to his own layout, inverted though it was. There were canvases hung on the walls, bright paintings of wolves and creatures moving through both apocalyptic worlds and hopeful future landscapes. Others were bright scenes, everywhere he looked there was something new, but there were few photos. Stiles was bouncing along to a song on the radio when he rounded into the kitchen, “Your work is amazing.” 

He startled so bad he almost dropped the cup in his hands. 

“Uh- thanks.” Peter walked forward and laid his palm over a piece of work that twisted up the younger man’s ribs. A black fox with purple smoke so detailed he expected it to move. “Did you design these too?” 

“Most of them.” 

“Beautiful.”  The kiss he takes from his lips is soft and sweet, an edge of hunger underlying it like thunder rolling the distance. “When do you have to pick up Marzena?” 

“Four.” 

“Good.” 

“Hey! I have pancakes to make Mister- can’t do that with your hand there-” Stiles was laughing though, even as he batted at the lawyer’s chest. “Okay okay. Go get comfy- I’m making breakfast- ah ah no - shoo!” and Peter; he laughs too. 

 

*

 

A year down the line Peter is stretched out on his couch, book in his lap while Marzena played pokemon on her DS. Stiles was meeting with a company, he’d refused to say who but Peter had known it was big from how many times he’d changed outfits for it the day  _ before _ the interview. In the end it had taken Peter shoving him into bed and distracting him before choosing the burgundy sweater and dark wash jeans he loved on the man. It had become habit to offer to watch her for him, he had coloring books and crayons in drawers and caramel sauce and rainbow sprinkles in his cabinets. Just as Stiles had Peter’s favorite novels on his book shelves and some of his shirts hanging in each others closets. 

There were holidays where Peter worked and Stiles went home to his dad despite begging Peter to join him. Christmas where he found himself wearing Santa hats and twirling Marzena around the Stilinski living room while she hung ornaments on a small tree. A New Years kiss that was soft and full of promise. It was a year full of flowers left on kitchen counters and late nights where game shows played in the background of companionable silence and work. Where Peter’s birthday couldn’t stay a secret and he found himself with careful drawing done by a child’s hand adorning his fridge. It was a snowball’s progression of time, small moments that led him to big things. 

 

He didn’t regret a moment. 

 

The phone ringing interrupted his book and he sighed. 

“Hello?”

“Peter, it’s Laura.”

“To what do I owe this delight?” 

“Mom wants me to tell you that she’s going to be in a conference your way and she expects you to free a day for dinner in three weeks.” 

“How about no.” He quipped, seeing Zena look up at his tone he smiled and waved her back to her game. 

“She says it’s about business.” 

“Fine. I’ll send the office a memo. I hope the internship has been well for you.” 

“I’m a member of the firm now actually. Starting six months ago.”  _ Had he really missed that? Oh well.  _

“Well, congratulations. Have a good day, Laura.” He just barely kept from throwing the phone at the wall. 

 

“Peter, I’m hungry.” A small body was clambering up in the couch, gangly limbs and bony knees digging at his ribs. It was a good distraction from his frustration. 

“Well what would you like?” 

“Grilled cheese.” 

“Really?” 

“Yep!” She popped the ‘p’ and it was so reminiscent of her dad he had to laugh. “I want a grilled cheese and you” She poked his chest “are gonna make it!” 

“So bossy! Whatever will I do with you?” He sat up and sent her giggling as she almost tumbled back. 

“Make me a grilled cheese!” 

“Okay, okay!” She didn’t seem intent on moving and he swept her up into a spin. “Let’s get you a grilled cheese.” 

  
  


Stiles came flying through the door two hours later and Peter was hit with worry.  _ What if it didn’t go well? No. He’s perfect. His work is amazing-  _ all his worries were quickly put to rest as Stiles threw arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. “I got it!” 

Legs wrapped around Peter’s waist as the man laughed. “I’m the lead for the Covenant project!” He dropped back to floor and spun around. The energy was infectious. 

“What, might I ask, is the Covenant project?” 

“It’s a game. A big game. A big big game- as big as you co—llosal book collection! Hey kid!” He swung Marzena around and placed a big kiss on her cheek. “We’re going out for ice cream!” 

 

It turned out the game was a huge deal. Stiles was leading character designs and world building and even had some say in the story telling. He was supposed to do character designs for the main three characters and submit them in a little under four weeks plus a few landscapes- and Peter was ecstatic for him. He was also very much aware that the excitement was going to fade about the time the anxiety and panic took hold. Stiles was  _ good _ but he was also prone to fits of paranoia around his art. He would throw himself into it. Maybe finish it. Then He would hate it and Peter would have to stop him from burning it down.  But tonight he was happy and Peter was too. The waitress smiled at them knowingly as she set down a sundae, Oreo milkshake, and a caramel-chocolate Shake. She knew the drill. 

“Thank you, Stacy.” 

“You’re welcome, doll.” 

 

“So how was your day?” Tennis shoes tapped against Italian leather. 

“It was fine. I finished those case files for Friday.” He twirls his straw in the shake. “Laura called me from Talia’s firm. I have a meeting set with her in three weeks.” 

“Business or pleasure?”

“Always business.” 

 

“Peter! I wanna play tic-tac-to!” A napkin was shoved at his elbow with a lopsided board drawn on it and that was that. 

 

*

 

Stiles was laying on his chest, fingers drawing patterns over his skin. “What do you think she wants to talk about?” They hadn’t talked about it but the tension had been building the closer it came to time for Talia to come into town. They’d nearly fought over Peter snapping at Marzena to not color near his papers which, while Stiles understood he also knew he didn’t need to be  _ harsh.  _ So while she slept they talked. Six years since Peter had last seen his sister outside of major holidays. He made a noise and shifted under the weight. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You have an idea?” The hand slips to rest over his heart and rests there. There had been so much to get them there, to a point where Peter allowed himself to be undressed in a casual way. To be seen and be vulnerable. They still didn’t discuss his scars. They didn’t talk about Stiles’ either, the ones under the surface. 

“I do. I think… i think she wants something from me. I’ve been lucky keeping my distance. I love her but she wants control… I think she may want to get me back home.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Fingers play through dark hair. 

“Whatever it is you know you’ve got us.”

_ Us.  _ It was so simple. So permanent. So fragile. 

“I know.” A tiny knock on the door, opening to reveal a small silhouette backed by hallway glow. 

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby?” Stiles levered himself up, “bad dreams?”

A nod and “uh huh. Can I sleep with you?”

Peter moved  intent on leaving when a hand held his wrist- “You can stay if you want.” he shifted easily to the right side,of the bed even as Stiles said yes. Stiles’ back pressed against his chest and Zena settled against Stiles’ own chest. It was domestic. It felt like a big deal. 

 

Peter was gone before either Stilinski woke in the morning, carefully extracting himself from bed and tucking the sheets back around the father-daughter duo. He had five hours to prepare for war. 

*

The Covenant project was driving him crazy. That Peter was gone before he woke up didn’t help in the slightest. Marzena slept late, which he needed to work on if she was going to start school in the fall. Then again, it had been a late night. He wiggles out to the living room and sits down with his laptop and tablet. He was almost finished and Peter had made him promise not to scrap anything he finished 71% of so he was doing fine. There were two more landscapes he needed to finish and the design for the werewolf character, there was something off about his main character he needed to do the opening scene storyboarding- he had three days and he fully expected to lose sleep on every one of them. 

 

Downtown Peter was half a second away from screaming. “What do you  _ mean  _ you don’t  _ know  _ where Harold Fitz is? He’s the key  _ fucking witness! _ ” Two hours. It was  _ two hours _ and the day was already going to hell in a gift wrapped hand basket. Their key witness for a case was in the wind, one of the new hires knocked coffee onto his laptop, and one of his favorite breakfast shops had been closed until further notice. Not to mention his sister was set to be there in an hour and a half. 

“He’s missing. I- I- I don’t-” 

“You don’t what? Know how to do the one job you were hired for? I’m well aware! Get out. Out! Now!” 

He could fix it. Damage control. He was good at this. He could figure it out- “Erica, get me Deucalion Blackwood on the phone.”    
“Yes, sir.” 

 

He paced as the call connected. “Deuc, I need a favor.”

“What do you need?” Deucalion had been a family friend for a decade before he became Peter’s. He was ruthless but reliable, careful and creative. 

“I need you to find a witness for me. He’s been in the wind for no more than a week, no less than two days.” 

“Email Kali the information. I’ll see what I can do.” 

 

One out of seventy three problems dealt with then. Of course Talia showed up thirty minutes early. 

“Peter, how are you?” 

  
“I’m fine Talia, how are you?” He was stiff when he hugged her and showed her into the office. “What brings you here?” He shifts papers to cover coffee stains as he rounds the desk and sits across from her. She hadn’t changed at all in two years. Midnight hair and lines around her eyes. 

“I wanted to see how you’re doing. You didn’t come home for Christmas and we’ve been missing you.” 

“I was quite busy.”

“I see.” Short. Clipped. Judging. “Well. Business then, I wanted to propose a merger. You wouldn’t have to come back to Beacon Hills but it would let us transfer cases between us and open us both to new clientele.”

“No.” 

“Peter, think rationally here.”

“I think, dear sister, you will find that I am entirely rational. But if you want me to  _ consider  _ your offer I will. Just know the answer will stay the same.” 

“Peter. Please, think over it. Consider it from all sides. Even if you don’t come home, we all just hate the idea of you being alone out here.”  _ I’m not alone _ . Sits on the tip of his tongue. Anger soaring through him but that was information she didn’t need to know. He didn’t want her to know.  “Okay. Fine. You are coming home for mom’s birthday this year, right?”

He’d always been his mother’s son. The last time he had missed her birthday because he was overseas he had flown back and spent an entire day in the city with her the first moment he had. “Of course.” 

 

*

“Stiles.” he’d called him as soon as he was home. They were close and he knew he was welcome but that didn’t mean they didn’t need their own space. That he was welcome to come over whenever he pleased. Stiles needed to finished his work and Peter would just be a distraction right then.

“Hey, babe! How’d it go?” 

“There was no blood spilled.” 

“That’s good… you sound upset. Tell me what’s wrong?” there was a small noise like he was setting his pen down and Peter laid down on the couch. 

 

“How do you do that?” 

“Hmm?”

“Take whatever I’m feeling and fix it.” 

“I’m a dad. Dealing with temper tantrums is my superpower.” He was smiling and it came through in his voice. “Seriously, what’s up?” 

“Talia made a comment about me being alone here.” 

“That’s bullshit!”

“Yeah. She wanted a merger and for me to move back. It rubbed me the wrong way, then a witness is awol, my new hires are incompetent…”

“But still alive.” 

“Stiles? I wanted to ask you- My mom’s Birthday is in late February. I’m going home for it and I don’t know… I thought maybe you could come with me. You and Marzena.”

There was a beat of silence. Just a breath too long. “If not that’s fine. I get moving too fast and all.”

“Peter- hey Peter no. I’d love to meet your family. I mean, you’ve already met my dad and hell, talk about moving fast. Peter. We practically half way live together, my kid adores you, and my bed feels empty when you aren’t in it. We passed the whole meet that family fence post months ago and if I didn’t have to finish this stupid project I would come over there right now and kiss you until you stopped being so dumb about it.” 

 

“I have work.”

“I know.” There’s quiet and it’s nice, “I’ll see you later okay?”

“Yes.”

 

*

“Beacon Hills?”

“Yes, it’s a town upstate-“

“I  _ know _ .” Stiles was standing over a half packed bag and looking at Peter like  _ he  _ was the weird one here. “That’s my home town.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Peter! That’s a bad word!” The six year old flew into the room and scrambled up onto the bed. “You owe me a quarter!”

“I’m sorry.” He formally apologized to the little girl and then went back to Stiles. “So your dad is-“

“Sheriff of Beacon Hills, Yeah. Oh! This means we can go by and see him, he’s been bugging me to drop by.” 

“We can see Grandpa?” Zeta was bouncing on the bed and, unable to resist Peter sweeps her up, holding her upside down. She was squirming and giggling in his hold. 

“Yes, we can go see your grandpa.” Pulling her back up right he stage whispers “We can take him cake and we’ll not tell your daddy.”

She nods solemnly as though they were making a very important contract. Stiles was standing shocked by the closet. 

“I’m right here!”

“Nope!”

He had to take a moment, looking at Peter holding his daughter while they wore matching mischievous grins.  _ Yeah, _ he thinks,  _ I like this.  _

 

*

They took two cars just in case. It was a almost a five hour drive back to Beacon Hills and they had decided that they would go to John’s first. They pulled outside just after four and Peter had to sit in the seat for a moment. Stiles was vibrating with energy and Zee was the same. The second the car was parked she threw herself out the door and was flying up the steps. Stiles was halfway up the drive when he realized Peter was behind him. 

He jogs back to the silver charger. “Hey, you good?” 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Big smile. A little tense. Stiles kissed him. 

“It’s fine. He’s already met you”

“He was high on painkillers at the time”

“And he’s going to love you as much as we do. Now come on.”

His dad opened the door and swung Zena up onto his hip.

 

_ He just said  he loves me.  _

 

He gets pulled from that by John shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Peter.”

 

Watching Stiles around his dad in his childhood home was an experience. He sniped at his dad and relaxed so completely it was like he was watching a very young Stiles. No one had ever accused Stiles of lacking energy but it was like someone had finally switched off the battery saver mode. John had moved them into the living room and Peter took an armchair while Stiles sat close to him. Zee sat in her grandpa’s lap and after half an hour started dropping off to sleep. Peter had expected to feel out of place in John’s house but it was easy. The man didn’t seem to feel either way about him.

 

“So you’re heading to a birthday tomorrow?” 

“Yes. It’s my mother’s birthday.” 

“Here I thought you may have been coming to take over for your sister.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, she’s been campaigning for a position in state legislature.”  _ So that’s what she wanted from me. _ It didn’t matter. He wasn’t taking her offer.  John and Stiles started talking about people Stiles’ had been missing when Zena fully dozed off. 

“I should put her in bed.” Stiles made a move to get up and Peter stopped him.

“I can do it.” 

John passed the girl over and Stiles directed him up the stairs into the second door on his right. There were photos in the hall, ones of a very young Stiles and a woman, Stiles and another boy he assumed to be ‘Scott’.  Then they stopped for a while before there was Stiles at his high school graduation, then acme photos of Marzena and John… Peter pushed into what he assumed to be Stiles’ old room, laying Zee into the be and tucking the blankets around her. 

  
  


“Where are you boys staying tonight?” 

“Well-”

“You’re welcome to stay here. I get that Peter might not want to but it’s cheaper than a hotel and I’m not going to kick you out any time soon.” 

“I’ll talk to him about it. Would you mind watching Zee Thursday night? I want to take Peter out to dinner.”

“You know I don’t mind.” 

 

*

Convincing Peter to stay was a matter of a big of puppy dog eyes and an indecent display in his dad’s kitchen. It turned out Peter hadn’t wanted to stay anywhere in Beacon Hills at all and with the offer of a shared bed and a home cooked breakfast he relented easily. The evening was a dinner of pizza and after Peter had put Zena into bed earlier than day John seemed much warmer to him. 

 

It was the morning that was hard. 

 

Stiles was flirting around the kitchen, his hair a mess, energy bubbling out of him that threatened to overwhelm the small space. John had left for work apparently long before Peter rolled out of bed and Zee was watching cartoons in the living room. “Stiles.” He catches the man by the waist and tugs him back against the broader chest. Stiles looked over his shoulder. Sleep ruffled Peter was his favorite Peter. 

“Calm down.” A kiss is dropped to his shoulder. “It’s fine. My family is going to adore you.” 

“What if they don’t.” 

“They will. What’s not to love?” His mouth opens and Peter stops him before a word can escape. “That was rhetorical, darling.” 

 

They left for the Hale House at 11. They took Peter’s car, Stiles fidgeting in the seat the whole way. He’d dressed nice. Fairly nice. A nice blue shirt and dark jeans and he let Peter mess with his hair to the lawyer’s satisfaction. 

“So how big is your family again?”

“My oldest sister is Talia, Alaina is my youngest sister. She’s three years older than me.”

“Are there kids?” Cuts in from the backseat

“Yes, there are a lot of little brats for you to run around with.”

“Hey!”

“Talia has six kids, the youngest are ten and they’re twins. James has two, they’re about your age, Zee. Alaina has one. Then there’s all the cousins who I won’t attempt to count.” 

“So we’re looking at what? Thirty people?”

“Fifty probably. But don’t worry you won’t be expected to know them all or remember half of them.” Peter brushes his lips over Stiles’ knuckles. 

“That’s comforting…” 

 

*

Stiles’ first thought at seeing the Hale House was that it was huge. And then that huge was an understatement. It was three stories and sprawled out over the clearing it was built in. A garage stood toward the back and the trees that surrounded it were just as regal. There were a few people milling around out front as they exited the car but Peter didn’t pay them mind so Stiles didn’t either. Zena held onto his hand all the way up the front steps. 

“Peter!” 

“Mom.” The smile the man have was bright and genuine and soft and Stiles knew it was a rare sight. The woman who came across the porch was of average height, gray hair pulled back in a bun, and her eyes were the same piercing blue of her son’s. Peter stopped to hug her tightly and was still beaming when he turned back to Stiles. “Mom this is Stiles and Zena. Stiles is my partner.”  _ Partner.  _ That sounded nice. More formal than boyfriend. More permanent. 

He didn’t have time to dwell on word choice as he was being hugged just as fiercely. “It’s so nice to meet you. My son is too stubborn for his own good. You don’t let him get away with anything you hear me.”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll keep him in line.” 

“I like you. Call me Ada. Peter how dare you keep this boy a secret from me. And you, you are adorable.”

“Thank you.” Z mumbles, suddenly shy. 

“Now come inside, all of you.”

The house was an open layout and was decorated in warm colors. “Uncle Peter! Uncle Peter!” Two black headed blues came flying through the foyer, attaching themselves to Peter’s legs almost before Stiles could move out of the way. “Did you bring us presents?” “Did you? Did you?” Peter ruffled the twins’ hair. 

“You get presents on  _ your  _ birthday.” 

“Awww.” 

“But I might have some candy for you tonight  if you don’t tell your mother.”

“Whose that?” 

“Alex, Ashley this is Zena. She’s Stiles daughter.” 

“What’s a Stiles?”

“I’m a Stiles.” 

“Oh! Okay! Can she come play with us?” 

Stiles turned and crouched down. “Do you want to go play?” The girl nods. “Okay, you know just to find me or Peter?” Another nod. He kisses her forehead and she gives him a quick hug before she’s chasing after the twins. 

“She’ll be just fine.” 

“I know.” 

 

Stiles met aunts and uncles first, t was amusing to watch Peter dodge the kiss his Aunt Tilda tried to give him. Even more so when he only half succeeded and ended up with magenta lipstick on his cheek anyway. 

Peter’s brother was next. James Hale was a giant of a man with a half foot on his brother but slim for his height. His hair was wavy and almost to his shoulders and he hugged Peter with one arm and a grin. Stiles decided the second Peter wrapped his arm back around him and gestured widely to Stiles that James was his favorite. Peter spoke to him excitedly and apologized a thousand time over for not seeing him sooner.

Talia found them in the kitchen not long after. Derek, her son was also there.Stiles wasn’t sure if he liked him at first. The man was gruff but seemed nice enough. 

“Mom? Whose child is that with Alex and Ashlee? I’ve not seen them before.” 

“That would be Stiles’ daughter Zena.” Talia seemed to take note of the duo off to the side. “Peter, you made it!” “I said I would.”

“Zena like the warrior princess?” Stiles decided her definitely liked Derek. Peter had asked the same thing a year ago. For some reason this felt more defensive. 

“Yes and No. It’s a nickname for Marzena. It’s Polish, from my mom’s side.” 

“And you are?” 

“Stiles Stilinski. Peter’s lover. You must be Talia.” 

“I am. I didn’t expect Peter to bring company.” 

“Well what can I say? I’m irresistible.” 

 

The afternoon passed by in a blur, the only thing Stiles was fully aware of was the way Peter’s hand felt against the small of his back and the warmth of the smile he was given any time he got along with the members of Peter’s family that the man liked. The exchange with Peter’s dad was short but he didn’t seem to disapprove of anything so that was a win. 

Just before lunch, around two o clock, Peter slipped away while Stiles watched Zee and several other skids play an intense game of freeze tag. “Is this seat taken?” James gestured to the seat beside him. 

“No, go ahead.” 

“How long have you been dating my brother?”

“About a year I guess.” 

“He must really like you.” In the yard James’ eldest touched Zee and she froze up only to get back in because of one of the twins ten seconds later. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“He hasn’t run you off. Peter is brilliant but he’s stubborn and defensive. He tries to distance himself from things and when it does work he’s an ass about it. If you’re still together I just figure that he’s in for the long haul. Besides. Peter doesn’t do kids. Not outside the family.” 

“He’s really good with Zee.”

“I figured. I’m not going to give you a shovel talk or anything like that but take care of him? We don’t see him near often enough but I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon.” 

“Maybe he’ll surprise you.” 

“He always does. Speaking of, you should go find him. I think they’re going to start lunch soon and if Peter misses his cake he’ll be insufferable.” 

 

He finds him upstairs with who he guesses is Amalie. The two were talking in a study with the door half shut. Stiles stops outside of it. 

 

“You can’t keep blaming yourself.” 

“It-“

“Wasn’t your fault. Peter…”

Stiles doesn’t hear the rest, creeping back down the hall. Whatever he’d stumbled upon was private. 

 

Peter comes outside and wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist from behind. Softly Stiles asks “are you okay?” And recieved a hum. “Want to go get cake?” 

“In a minute.” 

 

Stiles was formally introduced to Amalie while he was wrestling with his little girl to get blue icing off her cheeks before it stained. The woman had dark brown hair and blue eyes and stood a couple inches shorter than Peter. She was the smallest of the Hales he had met. She was soft spoken and sat next to him like it was nothing. 

He spent the rest of the day between her and Peter and at one point he was sure Peter was going to leave him because Zee got cake icing all over his face and Stiles could not. Stop. Laughing. Peter responded just by wiping it on Stiles instead. 

 

They left at 3. Ada hugged them both with a demand to stop being such strangers and Peter just kissed her cheek with a grin. “I promise.” 

 

They had the rest of the day to themselves which was spent lounging around the house. Zee crashed halfway through watching Anastasia and Peter turned to lay against Stiles’ front on the couch. He lets his hands drift over the man’s side, feeling that something was building up. 

“What is it?” 

 

“Just something said today.”

“Do you need to talk about it?” The what is on the tip of his tongue br he knows better than to let on that he had overheard the conversation between Peter and his sister. Peter would tell him when he was ready. 

“Not now.” He catches Stiles’ hand and pulled it over his stomach, breathing deeply. 

 

*

“Stiles? Have you seen my blue tie?” Peter had let himself into Stiles’ place using the key. His dry cleaning was late and he had one suit and no tie for it and he  _ knew  _ that the last time he had seen it was on Stiles’ bedroom floor. “I’m going to be late- who the hell are you?”

The woman sitting on the couch had a corporate shark vibe to her, strawberry blonde and painted lips, looking up at Peter as though he was the one who didn’t belong. 

“I’m Lydia Martin. You’re Peter, right?” 

“Yes. Why are you here?” 

“Stiles is getting breakfast so I’m looking after Marzena. My goddaughter.”

“Ah. Well. It’s lovely to meet you, Ms. Martin but I’m running late.” The tie was draped over the headboard and he loops it around his neck as he walks directly out the door. 

 

*

“So you met Lydia.” 

“I did. She’s interesting.” 

“That’s a word for her. She thinks you’re hot.” 

“Well I am.” 

“So humble. Are you free on Monday?”

“I am, do you have big plans?”

“Actually, I do.” 

*

Stiles had planned the night for weeks. It was after Peter’s last big case for a while and it coincided with the review for the Covennt game meaning they both had three days to relax. Mrs. Segievsky has offered to watch Zena for the night, the woman had three cats and baked like an angle. 

 

He took Zena down at five with a reassurance to call him if she needed anything. 

 

He picked Peter up from work. Met him at the front desk with a kiss and escorted him out with an arm around his waist. “So what are we going tonight?”

“It’s a surprise.”

 

The Point was a clearing on the westward cliffs where you could taste the salt from the sea and the stars were so bright it was as though paint flecked the sky. Stiles’old jeep took the steep road easily and Stiles had packed the back of it with blankets and pillows and with a basket of food. They laid out together like teenagers, sharing kisses between chocolate covered strawberries. Stiles laptop was set up to play The Proposal because they were both suckers for a good Renold’s comedy and Peter half heartedly complained about sticky fingers carding through his hair. 

With the waves crashing against the rocks and a steady heartbeat under his ear Stiles thinks to himself,

 

_ I could marry this man.  _

 

*

Zena started school in August. Stiles didn’t think twice at putting Peter down as the second contact. 

The third week of school she came home with a family drawing of her daddy, her, and Peter. It hung on the fridge for months until she drew a better one and declared the original an “antique”. 

At Christmas they all decorated the tree together with Zee pulling Peter and Stiles both into dances that barely avoided knocking the plastic tree over. 

*

In February Peter says,

“Move in with me.” 

Stiles said yes in a heartbeat. 

*

In May they celebrated Stiles’ promotion and Zena placing third in her talent show. 

*

In July Zena called Peter ‘dad’ for the first time at a water park birthday party. Stiles thought he was going to cry over it. It was the first time of many. 

That evening Peter laid next to Stiles and said “Do you think she meant it?”

“I know she did.” 

 

*

 

Peter was used to people coming and going in his life. He was used to little girls running down the halls and music in the house at all hours. Stiles and Zena weren’t going anywhere and he was happy that way. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll likely keep adding to this over time as a series.


End file.
